The Lone Traveler
by The Last Soldier
Summary: You can never forget a face. They just get lost in the constant data stream. You can't make them up either. And those horrific demons you see at night? You saw them too. You want to forget, but you can't, no matter how hard you try. And the worst thing? They saw you. *M for safety, potential future gore/dark themes* -HIATUS-
1. Chapter 1

You can never forget a face.

Any face you ever see gets sent to the back of your mind, recycled later in your dreams. Your brain can't make up a face, so it just uses the ones you've already seen. And those creepy, twisted little demon things you've seen in your dreams, the ones with the hellish grins and the sharp teeth, the empty eyes, the somehow… not-quite-there presence?

You've seen them too.

You don't remember them, sure. You don't want to. You buried them deep, deep below everything else, below the coal mines and the crypts where you bury your "conquered" fears.

But you saw them.

And they saw you too.

Harry woke, gasping, to the crashing of his skull into the stairs above his bed in the cupboard. He lifted his hand to his forehead, gingerly pressing it into the hateful scar of his, his mind running, scrambling to remember those hateful things he had seen in his dream, to find some significance in the disturbing visions which had shuddered through his head, the green and red flashes accompanying the fleeting images lighting up Harry's cranium like the odious and ostentatious decorations the Dursleys forced him to hang every Christmas.

Harry glared about the dark, humid cupboard at his scant possessions. He hated the things he saw, the things he knew. He hated, most of all, the visions. He hated that they had completely controlled his life for so long; that they had changed him into what he was, what he had become. The visions had started when he was fifteen months old. It was his earliest memory.

A scream, a flash of green, then naught but troubled sleep, filled with… abominations. Harry knew that he wasn't crazy, though he had plenty of reasons to be so; he had spent close to ten years of his life in this hellhole, this place that was… _beyond_ , somehow. Somehow there, yet only to show that it was not; revealing its presence by the absence of anything else, like those black holes that Harry had learned about from his teacher at the Legion Academy.

Ironic, that; Harry went to a school named after a biblical demon. Harry knew a little of Christian theology from various places. Legion was, from his recollection, a demon in a small town. Jesus had been called to the town, asked to perform an exorcism on a man who had been possessed by the demon. Jesus had demanded to know the demon's name, as was standard exorcism practice; the demon merely replied "My name is Legion; for We are Many."

Jesus then cast the demons into a herd of swine, who leapt of a nearby cliff and into the sea, only to be feared by the villagers for his power.

At the time, Harry had disregarded it, ignoring the strange implications of the many identifying as one, and one speaking for all, somehow representing all and embodied by none.

Harry's dreams were filled now with similar entities. They had no individual identity, yet were undeniably different to the others. He wondered where he had seen them, he wondered where he had lost track of his purpose.

And Harry wondered who would be dropping mail off at this hour. The mail flap fluttered open and shut, and a letter dropped to the floor. Quietly, Harry rose and left to investigate. He had long ago removed any purpose from the locks the Dursleys had placed on his door, and he silently pushed open the door, carefully maneuvering his way past the creaking floorboards and into the foyer, bending over to pick up the letter and turning it about in his hands. In the dim moonlight seeping through the windows, Harry could just make out the address and strange wax seal.

Marvelling at the archaic form of sealing a letter, Harry shifted the corned of the letter into the light, barely able to distinguish the intended recipient, written in flowing, almost calligraphic cursive:

 _Harry Potter, Heir Potter_

 _The Cupboard Under the Stairs_

 _Number Four Privet Drive, Surrey_

And the strange crest in the wax seal, which appeared to be four animals engraved upon a shield. Harry heard a pecking at the window, and glanced up to see twin ravens strutting on the sill. Harry disregarded them, peering instead at the creatures. Each, in their own way, was lethal; the lion for its ferocity and daring, the snake its stealth and venom, the badger its loyal claws protecting what it cared for, and the raven its cunning leading the unwary over cliffs or to drink from oceans. Then, at the top, Harry noticed a helmet resting upon the shield the animals were emblazoned on.

The helmet suggested, to Harry, the warriors of the Bushido code, those honor-bound relentless fighters who were sworn to uphold justice and order, the Samurai. And Harry thought he saw, very faintly, two glowing eyes of flame deep within the helmet. Harry shuddered, opening the letter as quietly as he could.

Harry decided he should probably wake up.

He didn't.

Harry blinked, and reread the letter four times before accepting its reality.

 _Heir Potter,_

 _The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would like to formally invite you to our illustrious school. We here at Hogwarts believe that this would be the best place for your continuing education to begin, and we shall send an instructor to your residence in order to inform you of both our school and the wonders of magic which have been so regrettably held from you. We promise the finest of educations in Wizarding Britain; nothing more, nothing less._

 _Should you choose to accept, the following are supplies which you will need:_

 _Three sets of plain work robes (black) for day wear_

 _One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_

 _One set of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

 _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk_

 _A History of Magic_ _by Bathilda Bagshot_

 _Magical Theory_ _by Adalbert Waffling_

 _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_

 _Magical Drafts and Potions_ _by Arsenius Jigger_

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ _by Newt Scamander_

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ _by Quentin Trimble_

 _One wand_

 _One cauldron (pewter, size two)_

 _One set of brass scales_

 _One telescope_

 _Students may also bring one pet of their choice (owl, cat, or toad)_

 _FIRST YEAR STUDENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

 _Best of wishes,_

 _Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, first class, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Harry glanced once more over the letter, resolving to study and learn more so that he would be prepared by the time he attended school. He then shot his head up to the window, where the pecking had continued, unnoticed. The ravens glared at him, at Harry slowly walked outside with an assortment of birdseed in hand. Harry held his hand out, and the ravens fed appreciatively before hopping to his shoulder. One flew off, and for some reason Harry felt compelled to wait for its return.

The raven soon returned, clutching beneath it a parcel that one would more expect to be in a moving van, as it was roughly half a meter in every dimension. The ravens' gruff caws reassured him, and he tore it open, to find many books, and laying upon them, a wand and cloak. Harry glanced up to give his gratitude to the obviously magical creatures, but they had disappeared. Harry was now alone. Returning inside, Harry was glad to have gone outside, though his soles were now achingly cold. He merely wished the ravens would have brought him more.

Hey guys, The Last Soldier here again to tell you of my return to the world of fanfiction. I have recently become enthralled once more with the realm of possibilities enclosed within, after it lost its luster a year or more ago. Don't worry, I plan to return to _Harry Potter and the Hollow Places_ as well, though perhaps not immediately. I may, however, change the format. Also, with my martial arts black belt candidacy requiring vast amounts of time, updates will likely be even more sporadic and difficult than before for the readers. Once more, I do apologize. I hope you like the start, and please review. All are welcome, though ones less useful will be ignored (i.e. "You stole this idea from _InternetPerson87_! I hope you die!" and "Harry's terrible. Go jump under a bus and off a bridge.") Recommended reading: In the Dust of This Planet: Horror of Philosophy (Eugene Thacker).

Thanks,

-The Last Soldier


	2. Discovery

A man presented with a fork in his path need not a map. Instead, he only needs the knowledge and wisdom to read the street signs. Harry had long prior become privy to this notion; there was always a path to take, needing perhaps to be found or cleared, and always needing to be taken.

This self-written adage, therefore, guided many of Harry's decisions in his new, free life at Legion Academy. He chose what he ate, when he awoke, whether he cooked or criticised. And now, he faced the greatest choice he could remember in his short life.

The choice of attending Hogwarts.

For all he knew, this was an insane asylum in disguise, a scheme concocted by his prudish aunt and blubbering uncle, a method of dispensing with his "freakishness" and distorting the fair reputation he's worked up with the people of the neighborhood. The choice between this, admittedly small, risk and a life abused and enslaved by a peculiar experiment in interbreeding many species which had resulted in breeding an ugly parrot with an abomination somewhere between sloth and whale, was an easy one. He had no desire to study further whether the "Dursley imbecilius" was a viable species.

The next day, Harry awoke after a pleasant night's sleep, undisturbed by the usual schemes Dudley concocted of throwing down frying pans or bouncing tennis balls in the morning. It was the first night in months he had not been beset by visions, by the terrible creatures which had colluded with his cousin to terrorize him out of any chance of proper sleep. Harry decided that he didn't particularly care for the idea of getting up at the moment, but knew he would not return to sleep anytime soon. Groggily rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Harry realized, intuited, understood that something was missing…

But what? As he sat up with surprising ease, Harry fumbled with his left hand for his glasses, his hand freezing just above them as he realized exactly what was wrong.

The cardboard box he had crammed into the space between the edge of his mattress and the wall of the cupboard came into focus, and last night had not been a deprived flight of fancy. The second epiphany he came upon was based upon the first. Harry noticed the distinct lack of optical aid, neither the contacts he often received from well-wishing opticians or his pitifully pointless glasses purchased at lowest possible cost by the Dursleys. Yet, the box, the walls, the planks, the smallest of chips on the hand-me-down tin soldiers' caps or rifles, roughed and worn by the hands of oafish Dudley, were all in focus, beautifully sharp and clear. He could see.

He could see, and the world was… Beautiful despite the circumstances. Never before had Harry seen the world in such high definition; it was like he were a videogame character, suddenly ported from an Atari 2600 to a 4k screen and impeccable computer. Harry was astounded. So astounded, in fact, he barely noticed the thumping of Dudley down the stairs, but he did.

And he sighed.

LINE BREAK (If I don't fix this, it's because FFnet still hasn't fixed their formatting tools)

Harry had performed his duties for the day, and thereafter retired to his cramped bed, too short for his quick-growing frame to stretch out upon. Harry alternately read and contemplated the subject matter in his hands, a book by the name of _Magical Transformations and You_ , by some chap of the name Jimmy von Richtofen. Returning to its illuminating words, the young boy absently stroked the book spine, his mind engrossed in the prose before him.

… The principle upon which the Animagus is based is the connection between the mage and the animal they are becoming, the spirit of the animal and the ways in which it is similar with their own; thusly learning the method in which the Animagus should begin to meld their character with that of their chosen Animagus form. A dog Animagus is typically free-spirited, excitable, yet in their own ways disciplined and often highly protective, and it for these shared characteristics with their form that allows them to become a canine. After making the connection, the Animagus will remain themselves though they will also seem slightly more like the animal they have become; for instance, a hawk Animagus will often have better eyesight than before, and be far more solitary.

Harry pondered this and decided that it made sense of a sort, to his mind at least. The text

of the book was set in an archaic type which was purposely difficult to read, and Harry had many

such difficulties. However, he persevered.

… Multi-Animagi, while rare, embody the traits of multiple animals. For instance, one of the best known multi-Animagi was Paul Atreides, a boy capable of taking the form of desert mouse, lion, and Harris Hawk [A/N: Look em up, they're pretty cool]. This was because he was at once a good ruler, skilled and powerful killer, and crafty and cunning man. However, the rarity of multi-Animagi is rare mainly due to the extreme willpower required to survive a second discovery meditation, and I do not recommend any reader attempt such a task.

Harry snorted, he remembered an old game of Harry-Hunting where he had read a similar tale as the buffoons fumbled about in search of his.

"Lisan-al Gaib!" they had cried in the tale, and the name he had chosen for himself was "Paul Maud-dib" or "The One Who Points the Way." Harry grinned at the parallels already emerging before him between the worlds he now straddled, and Harry had found a new name from the tale which he would take upon himself. Usul, the strong.

The Last Soldier here, saying sorry. I kinda lost interest, but I'm back! For a little while, anyways. Overwatch awaits.


	3. Of Gold and Sandals

The man who accepts death, and does not attempt to transcend it, is the wisest man of all, for he realizes that death is not the end of a wondrous journey through oft-troubled waters and instead merely the next chapter in a book whose pages are still being written, whose ink has yet to dry even as it is read.

It was thoughts like these that prevented Harry from attempting suicide as he listened to the hustle and bustle of the wizarding populace around him as he wandered down Diagon Alley. He had learned much of magic, but not of its people, its world, and as such he was here. Surrounded by people. In a line of twenty to reach the sole goblin teller at Gringotts.

God, how he wished he wasn't there.

However, it was unavoidable, and Harry had to speak with his account manager in order to clear himself for withdrawals in the accepted manner of the cluster of bureaucratic blocked paths and false doors that was the wizarding government. However, Harry could see the value of having money in his pocket and knew it would be worth it. In his communications with his account manager Ragnok via owl, Harry had discovered that his account balance was quite a large one. However, not knowing the exchange rate, Harry was unsure of whether his account was worth a million British Sterling Pounds or a million Sticky Notes, and that seemed a good thing to find out.

LINE BREAK

Fifteen minutes later, Harry had concluded that time had stopped. He'd reached the halfway point of the line and it felt like hours had passed. However, one goblin guard in heavy plate armor stepped away from the wall and gestured towards Harry to follow him. Harry figured that the polearm before him was better used guiding him than buried in his stomach, and so followed behind the intimidating, if short, fellow ahead of him.

Ragnok was a stout yet firm goblin, sharp teeth showing in a grin that was surely meant to be friendly yet failed spectacularly. Harry, however, shook his hand and took the offered seat, shifting it slightly to include the door in his periphery.

"Now, Mr. Potter, I've been informed that you have little knowledge of our culture and of our culture and economy. As such, I would be delighted to tell you that in the Muggle world, you'd be a billionaire several times over. Here, however, you've only got about 600 million Galleons." Ragnok paused for a chuckle at Harry's shocked expression, grinning as he continued. "This vast fortune is due both to genius investment on the part of the Potters and their custom of working for their own way into the world, not allowing themselves to sit on their haunches and grow complacent. Your parents chipped away a good 400 million for the war effort, and without it the war would surely have been lost and England no more than a smoldering crater and some Death Eaters."

Ragnok paused with a sigh. He had thought Harry to know about his parents, and the war, but his obliviousness was obvious and so this would take longer than anticipated.

"Right. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?"

LINE BREAK

Harry wandered Diagon Alley in a bemused daze, at once happy and mildly disturbed. However, he had gotten all he needed (and splurged a bit, if he was honest) and now all he needed was a pet. As such, he was on his way to Eeylops Owl Emporium, following the giant man ahead of him who had introduced himself as Hagrid. As he stopped before the shop, however, he felt a strange pull to the shop, or something in it.

Curious, Harry obliged himself, striding to a back corner of the shop where a magnificent gray owl preened in a cage almost the size of Dudley's second bedroom. Harry subconsciously identified it as a Eurasian Eagle Owl, watching it spread a wing to better access its secondary covert feathers on the underside of its massive wing. Harry watched the three foot wing fall back to the bird's side, standing stock still as the bird's head swiveled to face him and met his eyes.

Harry felt the bite of bark scratching at his back and the squish of moss underneath his feet, falling to the ground. And then, he was back in the shop, stroking the owl's feathers as he walked to the checkout staff.

"Very nice choice, sir. A fine specimen. May I ask what you're going to name him?" the charming young lady at the checkout counter asked Harry as he stepped up to the counter, smiling gently at the boy who was nearly as tall as she.

"Achilles. The name of a proud and strong warrior of Greek times." was Harry's gruff but not impolite response, and the woman smiled.

"Yes, an auspicious choice. I hope his tale will not end in the same manner as his namesake's, though." she said, smiling brightly as the owl's intelligent eyes swiveled to meet her own, and a chirp which sounded suspiciously scornful was issued from its beak. "Yes, yes, young one. Be kind to the boy, now. Oh, and Harry?"

"Yes, ma'am?" Harry responded with no small amount of confusion as to how he had been identified.

"The snake who hides amongst lions is never discovered and always protected." With that, she vanished, the line behind Harry seemingly oblivious to her disappearance or even whether she had ever existed. A raven pecked at the window, and Harry took that as his cue to leave the shop.


	4. Chapter 4

The devil wore the hooves of a mountain goat, and it seemed that these creatures did as well. The creature bounded up the harsh mountainside below Harry and kicked its cloven feet against the igneous rock, the resulting grating and scraping piercing Harry's skull with more ferocity than a Roman pilum.

Harry clung to the rock wall above it, his forearms quaking with exertion as his feet dangled beneath him. He arrived here every night, and every night it ended the same way. Harry reached this spot, this handhold, this peculiar crevice in the rock. The beast following him would stop. And every night, Harry would think it was leaving, abandoning its pursuit, only to realize that it was simply waiting. The undying patience of the abomination beneath him stared up at Harry through dull black eyes, and Harry would slip as he glanced over his shoulder. Hanging by his left hand, Harry would always feel his hand slipping.

Tonight was no different.

His left index finger slipped first, the jolt forcing Harry's body into a twist as his forearm shuddered, his hand contorting in an attempt to stay on the sheer wall of unforgiving granite even as he felt his weight shift away from the wall.

And then Harry did something he had never done before. He glanced down again, staring into the brute's eyes for what seemed an eternity as his stomach lurched into his chest and his lungs evacuated all the air from themselves of their own accord. Harry thought one thing, as he saw those unforgiving black orbs trace his path down the mountain to where it could reach his corpse.

 _No._

Harry lashed out blindly with his right arm, even as his left twisted unnaturally and thrashed in the air, disjointed and bent awkwardly against his chest, and caught some tiny facet of the rock wall with his thumb and forefinger. That was enough, and Harry dangled. Then Harry lost that hold, his toes brushed against the granite as his eyes snapped open, and he awoke to an unfamiliar bedspread with an unusually high ceiling.

LINE BREAK

Harry walked out of the Leaky Cauldron, snagging some peanuts from the bar and giving the piano player a nod as he walked out the door. The man returned the nod as Harry exited, and the boy continued on his way to King's Cross. It was, after all, the day the Hogwarts Express departed, and that was certainly not a day Harry wished to miss.

Aboard a taxi and well on his way, Harry pondered the things he had learned from the books left by the mysterious ravens. Not only was it possible to violate the laws of physics and create and destroy mass, but it was also completely possible to bastardize chemistry into whatever alchemy was intended to do, and potioneering was hardly better. Magic was, Harry supposed, a truly wonderful thing for destroying the laws of reality. Harry briefly considered the argument that sufficiently advanced technology would be seen as magic, and couldn't help a chuckle as he imagined placing Ragnok in front of a television set. However, Harry had arrived, and could hardly sit in the back of the taxi for hours as he debated internally the merits of the worlds he seemed to be straddling.

After all, he had a train to board.

Hefting his trunk above his head onto the luggage rack of the Express with little strain, Harry grimaced once more at the encumbering and heavy clothing deemed fashionable in the wizarding world. However, it did make quite a good blanket for Harry to relax into as he waited for the long journey to end.

"Hello? Is this seat taken?"

Harry sighed quietly as he was shaken from his calm meditation by a smooth, controlled voice.

"No, go ahead." He grunted, opening his eyes to see the mysterious intruder of his compartment as they slid the door closed behind themselves.

Harry was treated a breathtaking view of perhaps the most beautiful woman he had seen, her blonde hair cascading down her back and her gray eyes peering inquisitively yet dangerously at Harry from her alluring face. He shook himself from his stupor before he himself noticed it, and instead simply cocked an eyebrow in question. The girl extended a hand to Harry, who rose and gently kissed the back of her knuckles, as his etiquette instructor had taught him during the weeks he had spent catching up with wizarding culture.

Receiving the expected blush and stutter, Harry smirked inwardly as he realized his newfound ability to charm women.

"Harry Potter, milady. Though I believe you have me at a disadvantage, as I know nothing of you beyond your beauty."

The girl blushed, and began to introduce herself before the door was burst open by a similar beauty to the first, though to some degree less attractive and certainly less polite.

"Daphne Greengrass, Mister Potter, and this young lady is Tracy Davis." The blonde continued, spearing her friend with a light glare even as Tracy's hand was given the same charming treatment as her newly-introduced friend. You see, dear reader, the two were best of friends, though polar opposites in personality. Tracy was far more casual and relaxed, while Daphne was prim, proper, and absolutely terrifying. Therefore, Harry made the right decision in allowing them the use of his compartment.

"Charmed to meet the both of you," Harry said with a slight smirk in Tracy's direction, not missing the blush which quickly rose to her cheeks. "So, where do you lovely ladies think you'll be sorted?" Harry continued, making small talk in a fairly hopeless attempt to shorten the journey, though he was pleasantly surprised by the engaging company he found himself in. It wasn't often he was amongst people who shared his sense of humor.

LINE BREAK

Harry blinked as he heard the train's whistle pierce the night, not having noticed the imminent arrival at the castle. Turning to glance out the window, he spotted the legendary castle starkly outlined against the setting sun, the calm lake mirroring the castle's image perfectly. He settled back into the comfortable seat. The girls across from him were both slack-jawed with wonder, and Harry turned once more to appreciate the view.

A tentacle sliced its way across the surface of the lake, sending ripples through the sunset's reflection and curling slightly, before bending back and forth in a strange imitation of a wave hello. Harry blinked once, twice, and shook his head. Of course the magical world would have giant squids in their lakes which somehow knew human greetings; why not, after all? Pretty much anything else Harry could think of was possible. After all, there were giants and bird women and absolutely moronically unbalanced games.

That was an unpopular opinion, Harry knew. He just didn't care.

"Firs' years, Firs' years o'er here!" came a gruff bellow from the station once the Express had pulled alongside its stop. "All right, all of you. Four to a boat, an' no more, y'hear me?" the giant man bellowed to the students. Harry glanced at the rickety boat he was apparently expected to cross the lake in, already questioning his decisions before his hand was grabbed and he was dragged into a boat by a blonde beauty.

"Impatient, eh, Daphne?" he inquired with a smirk, freeing his hand and stepping gracefully onto the rowboat.

"Oh, shush, Potter. You know I just wanted to get away from the crowd." the girl sneered, though the grin in her eyes softened the edge considerably as the boat rocked and the final passenger stepped aboard. "Nott."

"Greengrass."

"Mind introducing me, Greengrass? You two seem to be familiar." Harry said. Glancing over at the newcomer, the boy studied him closely. Like many wizards seemed to be, the boy was hardly fit, but seemed more healthily weighted than some of his compatriots.

"Of course. Potter, this is Theodore Nott. Nott, this is Harry Potter. I'm sure you know the name." the shapely beauty intoned, clearly bored with the situation already as she returned her attention to the approaching castle. "Also, duck."

Harry did as he was told, lowering his head quickly to his knees not a moment too soon, a rock ceiling brushing the back of his neck as the vessel entered a cave which led to a staircase. Nott, however, wasn't quite so lucky, and his head connected with the carved stone with a nasty crack. The sound of the impact and resulting crumpling of his slack body into the yoke of the boat brought back some memories to Harry with a shiver.

He was awoken from his rememberings by the crunching of gravel underneath the stem of the boat, and he sighed. Draping Nott over his shoulder, Harry alighted onshore, following the girls to the base of the carved stone staircase.

As he trudged up the intricately engraved steps to a doorway after his peers, Harry heard a song he remembered from one car ride with the Dursleys. He hummed the opening bars to himself and searched for the words of the song.

"Come out Virginia, don't let me wait," a voice beside him muttered in time with the song, and Harry spared them a glance and knowing smirk as he inspected the singer. The boy was of middling height, compared with the tall and lithe frame demanded from Harry by the Dursleys, and wore a cheerful smile that contrasted starkly with his slumped and shuffling posture.

"You Catholic girls start much too late," the boys continued in unison, their muttered singing rising in volume as some others joined in. Soon much of the crowd on the staircase was belting out Billy Joel's words, swaying back and forth in the melody.

"While this is a charming scene, I must ask that you stop so that I may better introduce you to the information Virginia was missing."

The first years instantly quieted and straightened, their gazes searching for the voice's source until they found the tall Scottish woman at the top of the staircase. Nodding their understanding, the first years followed the woman through the doorway. As he passed the giant of a man who had shoved his way to the top of the staircase, he handed off Nott's unconscious body. The man gave him a gap-toothed grin and a hearty chuckle, and a healthy swat on the back for good measure.

"Welcome one, welcome all, to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average!" the tall woman proclaimed to snickers from the muggleborns arriving, and confusion from the Purebloods. "Now, if you'll make a line, single file, against the wall, please, and wait for your name to be called. Ah, yes, thank you, young lady. Follow the young miss, please."

Harry settled against the wall in an easy yet alert stance, the boy from earlier slouching against the brick with a sigh next to him.

"Quite the place, isn't it?" Harry said in a sidelong whisper to the boy.

"Yes, yes it is. I'm Alex, by the way. Alex Williams. You have a good singing voice." the boy muttered back, pushing off the wall with his shoulder only to crash back against it.

"Thanks." Harry said, not knowing how to respond to that. "Oh, that's me," he grinned, striding easily to the stool and sliding onto it.

"Wait, you're Harry Potter?" he heard Alex call. As a response, Harry shot a grin off and nodded to the witch from earlier.

 _Ah, most interesting, a child made stronger by abuse._

Harry's eyes snapped around, though he maintained a cocky smirk. The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, almost as if Harry himself had said it. _No need to panic, Mister Potter, I am simply the sorting cap. I see you missed my song; hardly a problem, but perhaps one that led to a lack of information. Very well, Mister Potter, where would you like to be sorted? With the Slytherins, meant for the ambitious and cunning, or perhaps the Gryffindors, the courageous and noble?_

 _I was of the impression you would make that choice for us,_ Harry shot back.

 _Very true, Mister Potter, very true. However, you are a uniquely balanced child in that you would not be molded to fit the house but instead mold the house to fit you. As such, I would like to know where you would be happy, as I cannot make that decision for you._ The hat seemed unperturbed by Harry's snide comment and simply genuinely interested.

Harry refrained from sniping further, and instead pondered his options. Suddenly, a flash of white overcame his vision and Harry found himself once more in the owl shop's checkout line before that beautiful woman.

" _The snake who hides amongst lions is never discovered and always protected."_

Harry knew instantly where he wanted to go, where he would be safe and free yet with friends and people who could become a surrogate family.

 _Gryffindor, please._

 _Very well, Mister Potter, you have chosen…"_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry rose, strode to the table, and flashed the hall a grin. Daphne and Tracy had both been sorted into Slytherin earlier, and Williams was approaching sorting. Nott had been shoved into Slytherin but seemed ill at ease with the house. However, it was where he had been sorted, and his tentative approaches to his peers seemed somewhat successful.

Harry was dragged away from his ponderings as he noticed the boy with the slouch and the smile shuffling his way up to the stool at the front of the hall. He seemed just as surprised as Harry by the hat, but spent much less time being sorted.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat bellowed (bellowed? Harry didn't know) and the boy looked quite relieved as he slumped into a bench at the end of the table, greeted by slaps on the back and firm handshakes.

Harry had just begun to dig into the large and appetizing meal before him when a door burst open and a roar echoed through the great hall.

"T-t-t-... T-TROLL! Troll… in the dungeons… thought you might want to know." the short professor stuttered, collapsing forward into a bowl of scalloped potatoes as the door behind him creaked shut.

A/N: Alright, covered a lot of ground, got sorting over with, and only in a couple of months! I'm happy with that! Nah. Anyways, sarcasm aside, I do apologize for my absence but insist it was a necessity. Thanks for your understanding, hope you enjoyed it.

-The Last Soldier


End file.
